To Pass the Night
by ArchFaith
Summary: Upon her king's death, a sorrowing Arwen flees her old life. After years in Lorien, she is visited by Legolas, who brings her hope as well as love. Ch. 5: Love exists between them, as it always has. A whisper, and a promise, is all it needs.
1. To Seek

Note: All Lord of the Rings elements belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien. All thanks for his magnificent work. 

Note: Oh, mother of distractions! Well here it is...I couldn't rest until I had done it...

But another thing: This has an alternate timeline. I know Aragorn died in the 120th year of the Fourth Age, Legolas and Gimli left Middle-Earth soon after he died, and Arwen died in 121, but here's the time for this story (it's not that hard):

120: Death of Aragorn

120-125: Arwen departs Minas Tirinth and dwells in Lorien for five years.

125: Arwen receives her visitor. And now...

To Pass the Night  
Chapter One: To Seek  
By ArchFaith

Footsteps.

Lightly falling above the crunching leaves, they wound their way through the forest, searching.

Measured, cautious feet, belonging to a weary, hopeful soul they were, always keeping the same rhythm, never straying off the path they had taken.

It had been many months since she had heard such a noise.

The time that she had dwelt away from her home had caused an exhaustion in her being-all her personality, her emotion, her appearance, had undergone a metamorphosis. With the one thing she loved the most ripped from her arms, only one aura emanated from her personage now.

Sorrow.

Lightly she raised her head. She had alighted next to a flat rock, legs tucked under her, resting her head on its surface, cradled by her arms. The footsteps were approaching.

They were seeking her.

But this was unheard of. During all the time she had dwelt under the misty trees, among the peaks of the mountain, she had never had a visitor. All knew her sorrow...all knew she could not be eased.

And yet, someone was coming.

She stood up slowly, without ceremony. The hood of her cloak was pulled tight around her face, as she awaited the figure approaching from the eastern wood. Elves no longer dwelt in Lothlorien, and men were reluctant to approach even the outskirts of the great forest. Who could it be, this hunter, who wished to see her?

Plainly she awaited her fate, her mind clouded and grieving, her face displaying a black curiosity.

Amid the sheets of mist, a figure materialized. An elf it was, tall, slender, wearing a long cloak. As he came nearer more details could be seen- he donned a green tunic with blue leggings, and a bow and arrows were tucked into a sheath at his back. Yes, he had a purpose here, that was clear. To find her.

He became aware of her suddenly, as she watched him. He had vainly been searching for forty-three days-his eyes were worn, his mind despairing. He had nearly given up hope. But he knew she was alive and that she could be found, somehow. And now he saw what others may not-the figure standing in the clearing, through the dead, jagged wintry trees.

Their eyes met; her mouth parted slightly.

He sped his pace, and quickly jogged through the forest to reach her clearing. Carelessly he let branches tear at his cloak, let loose twigs snap on his bow. He had found her. He had found her!

She had not moved from her vantage point; she watched as he stepped through the low shrubs and bushes, his eyes on her the whole time. The only being she had seen in an eternity.

His face was a mixture of awe, relief, and sadness, as he came up to her, afraid to even touch her. She stared back at him vacantly, curious as to his call. Happiness could not be found with her-her sorrow was too deep.

For a long while they merely faced each other, the wind whipping through his cloak, bending the hood of hers back.

He whispered: "Arwen."

She blanched at the sound of her name, a name which had not been heard for many seasons. Was it truly the name, the name her parents had bestowed, the name her adopted people knew her by?

His hand reached for hers. She allowed him to take it in his own, and hold it near his heart. She could feel his heart beating in his chest. Simple, excited beating, the heart of an elf who had finally reached his goal.

She looked into his eyes, deep blue with hints of white sunlight filtered through them.

He continued: "It is Legolas."

He spoke in Sindarin, the last vestiges of a language she could hardly remember. But yet, everything came back to her as she gazed into his eyes, anchoring them to her soul for support.

"Yes. I remember you."

His eyes grow smaller as he forsook the ceremonial elven greeting and caught her up in a warm embrace. She could do nothing but wrap her arms around him as he burrowed into her neck. "I searched for you for so many days...I had almost given up."

"No...no, I am still here. I will always dwell here," she answered, her cheek rubbing against his warm face. She slowly broke apart and asked, "But why have you come?"

Legolas averted his eyes slightly, but said, "When I heard of Aragorn's death I went immediately to see you at Minas Tirinth. But when I arrived, you had already departed for Lothlorien. Your son and daughters told me it was best that I did not seek you, and so I left as well. But as time passed, it gnawed at my soul, this last goodbye that should have been yours; and so I decided to go against the advice of your children and search for you. I have been here over a month already, beneath these grey woods, where you, my elusive, dwell."

"I should not be so much trouble," Arwen answered. "You should not have come, my lord. What have I to say anymore...other than my grief."

"Have I upset you? Do you wish me to leave as soon as I have arrived?"

She shook her head. "If it is your wish to visit me, then by all means fulfill it; I will not turn you away."

"That is glad news to a weary soul."

She smiled, out of old habit. She had been very fond of Prince Legolas, ever since they had first met as children in Rivendell, over two thousand years ago. They were distant cousins, and at times, the best of friends. Even after Arwen's coronation they had remained close, with Legolas often coming up to see her and Aragorn, and their children. She loved him dearly, and always would.

But sorrow had made her forget that she loved him, forget that she loved anyone else but her king.

She sighed deeply, and gestured to him. "Walk with me." He offered his arm to her and she took it, resting her fingers on his forearm.

Amidst the endless grey forest they strolled, arm in arm, old friends once again. "You must tell me of the world in which I once belonged," Arwen began. "You must tell me of my people, and my friends, and the happenings I have distanced myself from."

Legolas nodded, wishing to comfort her in any way he could. "Of your children, Eldarion is a fine king; he leads with grace and integrity. Your daughters flourish, wise and beautiful, and all three are as skilled in swordsmanship as their father. Yet...they greatly miss you."

Arwen nodded stoically. She paused before she continued, "And Gondor?"

"It is prosperous, well-governed by your son."

"And what of Master Dwarf, Gimli?"

Legolas smiled. "He is well. We remain, as always, good friends. He wished me to send his love to you, when I found you."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "And return my love to him as well. And you, dearest cousin...what is your state?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I'm afraid. My princely duties call me.but I am glad to forsake them sometimes. Many of the elves who are still in Middle-Earth are under my guidance, and I lead them until they depart for the Grey Havens."

Arwen nodded. "A fitting position for one such as yourself."

Legolas said nothing. He only tightened his grip on Arwen's arm as they walked along. Closing his eyes for an instant, he could remember the old Rivendell, back when Elrond still dwelt there with Celebrian. He cherished the long visits taken down with his father, Thranduil; he rejoiced when he saw the glad eyes and mouth welcoming him to her home. He could remember strolling like this with the beautiful Arwen, skilled in laughter as she was with philosophy, the perfect companion for an afternoon spent along the mountain, cousins and friends together.

He quickly opened them and saw that the world was not so. That they were still in Lorien; and then Arwen, after five years, still grieved heavily.

He ventured: "And what has become of you, dear cousin?"

She wished he did not ask that. For a while her life was a little bit brighter; for a while she was gladdened to hear of the success of her children and friends. But to ask her what her life was like here, wasting away under the trees, as Elrond had predicted...

"It is peaceful," she replied truthfully. "Although in me stirs a great longing for him.these woods give me some comfort. Here I can reflect on the years I spent with him, the happiest years of my life. When I lay myself down I dream of him, and entire passages of days and months I relive again, in his company. Here I find shelter, even though it does not keep from the cold in which I awaken to."

She stopped suddenly, as if her feet were rooted to the ground. Then she continued, as if nothing had happened. "And that is my life."

Legolas said nothing. _Such a life_, he thought. _It is understandable that she should be upset about Aragorn; but to hide herself from all living things, to wander about until death should claim her, forever thinking of her king. How could her life come to this end?_ He stared slowly at his cousin, who now walked on a little more confidently.

They walked in silence for a while, enjoying each other's presence. Arwen had been so used to herself that she had quite forgotten how to keep speaking; when she finished one thought she would quiet herself until another came into her brain, which she voiced. It was Legolas who spoke most often, of anything and everything he wanted to tell her. He told her of several attacks on the elves from some stray orcs in the mountains, and how they had been quickly eliminated; how Gimli had wished to marry a fifth cousin of his from an old family of Moria, but how he had been rejected; and know he himself had visited the bridge that led to the Shire, and had been met there by Samwise Gamgee's great-great-granddaughter, Briony, and shown the endings of the book Frodo Baggins had begun, and that Sam had ended.

Arwen smiled and commented on some of these anecdotes, slightly joyous to hear of her old friends' fortunes and tribulations. Still, her face was long and drawn, and carried degrees of the ever-present sorrow always.

By nightfall, they found themselves in the same clearing they had found each other in. The moon cast an eerie shadow over the mists, rising through the tops of trees and bearing down on them as if to crush them. Here Arwen parted from Legolas. She looked up at the moon, blurred through the foggy silhouettes. "It is night," she stated simply. She turned back to him. "You must go; to stay here too long is to be immersed in the sadness which always stays within me." She again turned to face the north. "If you follow the trail of stones through the north, you can reach the exit by tomorrow afternoon."

Legolas could hardly believe her. Leave? "Leave!" he repeated, astonished. "My dear Arwen, to walk with you but a few hours, then take my leave of you? It shall never be done on my part! I have not seen you for five years..."

Arwen visibly softened. Her face turned sorrowful again as she recalled. "It has been five years?" she repeated, unbelieving. "Nay, nay, Legolas, it has only been but a few months..."

Legolas shook his head. "Nay...these woods have distorted your sense of time, cousin. It has been five years since Aragorn died, since you departed from us."

"Ah," was all she could say, with quiet comprehension. Time had blended together for her. The night and day and everything in between inhabited the fog.

She sat down on the flat rock, contemplating again. Legolas knelt down next to her, his face keen as he took her hands in his yet again. "I ask your permission, my lady...if I could, to accompany you for a time-not too short, yet not too long-in these woods. Believe me, nothing would bring me more comfort than to spend time with you."

Touched, she brought his hands to her lap. That he would search for her in this forsaken place, that he would remember her, the one reminder of her life in an age past.

She nodded.

To be continued...

Note: Please review! I'd like to know what everyone thought of my story...I already have a second chapter written, and if this gets enough reviews, I'll post it. Remember: constructive criticism, but no flaming!


	2. To Glimpse

Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings elements belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien. All thanks for his magnificent work. 

To Pass the Night  
Chapter 2: To Glimpse  
By ArchFaith

And the days passed slowly; yet they did pass.

Two...eight...fourteen...

He counted the notches carved into the tree, tracing his hands over the scratches. Fourteen, he counted, fourteen days of his life here. With her.

To him it seemed like five days.

More or less the days and nights merged their monotonous qualities into one long age, an age where the mists eternally rose and fell again, an endless succession of that hooded figure slinking away from him as soon as he awoke; the long hours spent without her, lying in a daze under the trees, thinking, meditating, for lack of anything to do; the darkened nights spent inside the cavern in which she took shelter, the Spartan abode she called her home. She had brought little with her; a small chest containing lembas wrapped in waxy elanor leaves, and a few candles and tinderboxes for light and warmth. Her bed was composed of warm Gondorian furs, which she divided into two to contain her visitor. During the nights they slept side by side, Arwen often sleeping with a fitful look of consternation. He'd lie awake and stare at her, face pale and drawn in the moonlight, and wonder what he could possibly do to ease her sorrow. He dared not lay his hand on hers, or smooth her brow whilst she slept; the shock of it being him, and not Aragorn, would have been too much. No, he only lay there and watched; but he would have given up his immortality if only she would smile once more.

He was unaware that she stood a few hundred feet away, observing him through the trees. He stood blankly tracing the lines on the tree, his head down slightly. So, it had been two weeks since he arrived, she could see that. Her ability to tell time had come back to her; she now counted the days and nights, keeping the record in her own mind. Two weeks...Legolas. Sweet, dear cousin. She knew the toll her grief had been taking on him; she knew it took the best of his ability to keep positive, at the least, when she was around him. These woods offered no joy, no happiness, no activity; dead and barren they were, long since deserted. As she was. But not him; he was still full of life, still kept hope within him. And yet he stayed with her, indefinitely; he had not mentioned leaving yet, and she sensed he did not want to, sensed he could not just walk away from her, to forget about her once again. Dear Legolas.

She walked towards him slowly, carrying no pretenses, letting the leaves crunch beneath her feet. He turned as she came up to him. She looked at him kindly, but did not smile; no, she hadn't truly smiled at all, even with him here. It seemed a farce to smile at such a time; it seemed wrong for her to smile when Aragorn was not living. No, her smiles were for him alone; that might never change.

"Good morrow, cousin," Legolas greeted, taking her hand in his. It had been one of those mornings when he had awakened to find her gone, or else almost out of sight, his sensitive hearing picking up her half- whispered discourse to Aragorn.

"Good morrow," she answered. "What was your entertainment today, cousin? I am afraid I have not been a very good hostess to you."

"Pray, do not say that," Legolas answered. He did not want her to feel badly; it was he who decided to stay, and he only asked that she tolerate him, and nothing more. The woods fascinated him-even dead, grey woods such as these. But he was merely fascinated with them-she, on the other hand, could not survive beyond them, in the new Middle-Earth of the Fourth Age.

Arwen lowered her eyes for a moment, then brought them up again to observe the darkening sky. "I am weary," she announced. She was always weary. "I shall retire for the night."

"And I," Legolas answered. By human standards, it would be nearly time for an early supper, as the pale grayish-blue sky of afternoon had turned to painted shades of purple, splashed with pink clouds and framed by the glowering yellow crown of light.

Still, what more could he do here, outside, when she was asleep?

He followed her into the small, pebbly cavern where she made her home. It was about twelve feet high, and twenty across. Stalactites hung threateningly from the ceilings, and the sound of drops of water dripping was ever-present. The small chest lay in a corner; the beds of furs were in another, and a small pile made from dry twigs and mosses marked the place where their fire had been the night before. All things considered, it was painfully barren and under-lived, as if its owner was not planning on staying too long.

The late afternoon did not tarry in its exit; by the time Arwen had started the fire it was pitch black outside the cave, and all was silent. To Legolas it was unnerving; being a woodland prince, he had grown up in a forest where sound was ubiquitous, and living things never rested. But here, in these dead woods, where nothing stirred, he could almost feel Arwen's sorrow materializing and surrounding him; and although he did his best to fight against it, although he tried to lift her spirits in every way possible, it was not likely such a thing would happen.

Arwen had not lied when she told him she was tired; in a few minutes she had lain down and covered herself with a furry blanket, lying in an almost fetal position, eyes dull and cheerless. Legolas, finding there to be no reason why he should not retire with her-after all, what activities would he find to perform here, at night, in the woods-lay down next to her.

"Legolas."

"Yes, cousin?"

She rolled over to face him, their eyes meeting. "Perhaps...it is time you thought of returning?"

He furrowed his brow. "Do you wish me to?"

Her thick lashes covered her eyes as she continued. "No...I do not, truly I do not. But it is not good for you, I think, to be here...my sorrow is a cloud over this forest, and you, I have observed, are beginning to absorb it."

"Why do you think that?" he asked slowly.

"I can see, cousin," she answered with a sigh. "I have learned to see many things. I do not wish you to share in my grief."

"But it does not affect me, cousin. I am here merely because I missed you so."

"And you have visited with me, and have witnessed my endless wandering, my empty ways. Why would you wish to stay longer?"

Legolas reached his hand out and touched her cheek gently. He ran his thumb over the arch of her cheek, this beloved thing of his, more precious to him than she would ever know.

"These times are trying, my dear. This age...without you...has been hard for me to bear. You are my oldest friend, and I would trade the world and my part in it for you; and I do not intend to leave you so quickly. Nay...now that I have found you, I will stay with you until these woods close in on me, until I cannot bear the thought of this place any longer."

Arwen breathed in, the sound of her inhaling noisy in the firelit cavern. "I cannot command you," she answered. With that, she rolled over, and returned to the life of dreaming, with Aragorn.

Legolas lay there, anguished. _I cannot command you?_ Was it really nothing to her, this visit, this labor to find her, this disquieting feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach when he witnessed her drawn face each day? Pondering this, feeling slightly disconcerted, he slipped off into a light slumber, uninformed of the fact that Arwen was still awake.

_I should not have been so brusque,_ she told herself sternly. _He must surely believe that I do not value his coming here as much as I should. Indeed...I value it more. But this can not so easily be expressed without mistaken emotions..._

Her mind was rambling on without truly being coherent, showing her long-forgotten images and memories. The stars were just beginning to shine in the pale violet sky; the sound of running water splashed gently against the banks of the river. Vague whisperings, a graceful sigh, and a rustling of skirts as she fled up the stairs in Rivendell, blushing madly. And then nothing more.

(-)

It was blackness at first, throughout those few hours of dreamless doze, in and out of consciousness, aware of the figure that slept on the cold stone floor beside her. But into that blackness she slipped; and down, down, down, deeper and deeper, until she was falling through the blackness, frightened, bewildered. Presently her feet came to touch a floor; a floor, she discovered, that was familiar to her. The palace of Minas Tirinth.

A crown she wore, a crown of men, and from her vantage point on the palace's great balcony she could see her city as well as the new Osgiliath, rebuilt and proud. By her feet there played a small boy and girl-brave, inquisitive Eldarion, her eldest child, and the delicate Celebrian, her second. Cradled in her arms was her third; a small bundle wrapped in silks and satins, her little Gilraen. She felt a surge of love at the sight of these three small souls, the children she had carried and loved, and had not beheld for so long.

But this would not be complete...

But ah, there he was! Joyously she shouted to him; Estel! He descended down the stairs and came to stand next to her on the balcony, putting his arms around her, smiling heartily. How alive he looked; how very much as the last day they had seen each other in Rivendell during the last days of the Third Age!

Her husband, her king, and her love. He moved forward to kiss her-

And it fell away.

The vision, dream, whatever it may be called-vanished. Minas Tirinth, the children, Estel...these all shattered like glass before her eyes. She was plunging through the darkness once more, desperately trying to find something to hold on to, something to love.

And one more image resurfaced: that of Aragorn, lying cold and dead in his coffin, his blank, expressionless eyes staring straight into her.

She screamed.

(-)

Legolas nearly jumped out of his skin as her blood-curdling shriek reached his ears. He instantly propped himself up and looked to his cousin, who was now lying to face him. Her face was contorted into a hideous frown, and tears flowed freely down her pale cheek. She moved her arms slightly, from side to side, and her legs seemed to move in a weak running motion, as if she were being pursued.

He immediately pulled himself nearer and placed his right arm around her. To wake someone dreaming was unwise; though he should have liked to, the shock of it might be too much.

So he smoothed the dark strands back from her pale face and soothed her. "Arwen, Arwen...shhh...everything is fine...do not weep, my dear one...shhh..."

He spoke to her as if they were children again, in their own elven-child language, the language of simple innocence and laughter. He pulled her hair back from her face and held her as she continued to weep uncontrollably, still dormant and sleeping. Her nightmare was profound; it was a reminder; a vivid reminder of her life and what had happened to it.

"There, my lady...there..."

Legolas buried his face into her shoulder, his mouth brushing against her neck and her dampened raven locks. His heartache, in that one simple hour of her terrible weeping, had increased a hundred-fold. He longed to see her smile once more, to run and laugh in the fields of flowers, to lean against him as they went horse-riding down by the river banks.

And he knew this would never transpire again.

Presently her sobs ended, and she lay wilted in his arms, like a flower which has seen its prime of life, then passed on, floating on the waters. He lay her back down onto her bed of furs, tucking the covers over her as she settled back in, deep shallow breathing accompanying her drained appearance. It had ended, this fit of anguish, for now. And it had left her weak and heartbroken once again, as she lay there powerlessly, unable to hope, or to pray.

Legolas lay down beside her, so close that their cheeks touched. He turned onto his side while she remained on her back, and his hand reached out to stroke hers, which rested absently on her stomach.

Her anguish was his. And it was he who prayed for her that night.

To be continued...

Note: Whew! Hope ya'll liked it! I wrote a whole 'nother second chapter before I threw it out and wrote this one. Don't worry...this chapter was mostly about Legolas settling in with Arwen in Lorien, and understanding her grief. In the next chapter, things definitely heat up!


	3. To Discover

Note: All Lord of the Rings elements belong to JRR Tolkien. All thanks for his magnificent work. Note: Wow...I'm not happy with my /other/ Chapter 3...so I just HAD to revise! I hope this turns out well... 

To Pass the Night  
Chapter 3: To Discover  
by ArchFaith

Cold, dead face. Worn, weary hands reaching out to touch him, even though he was gone, even though his shell of a body remained. She collapsed against the stone slab on which he lay, her face in her hands, the wind whipping her black veil to the side, streaking tears on her face.

And there she remained for days, mourning him, crying out to him, speaking to him as if he still lived. Her children helplessly looked on, trying to coax their mother into returning home, back to where she belonged, but no, they did not understand. This was not where she belonged.

Love no longer lingered in these halls that once protected and treasured her life. The admiration and sympathy of her people, the natural love of her children; these were comforts, but they did not hold the same bearing the great, over-powering feeling she had shared with her dear Estel.

She saw herself emerge from the House, eyes wearied, their light extinguished. Her cape whipped around her body, and her black tresses hung plainly at her back. She looked out over the vast expanse of the kingdom and sighed. So awkward to protect, and yet it had been done, and now it was secure. And yet not all could be secure.

In the throne room of the palace Eldarion now sat on his father's chair, Celebrian and Gilraen on other side of him, the three guardians of Gondor. Her children's faces were stony and fierce, denying, trying to forget, trying to find the pieces of their existences. And as she conveyed her message to them, they broke. Eldarion ran to her and embraced her, and wept. Celebrian fell to the steps of the throne, hands over her mouth, watching their bitter exchange. Gilraen pleaded with her, softly, calmly, knowing that she could not win.

And she departed, leaving her children alone and undefended.

The people had bowed deeply to her as she passed the spiraling roads of Minas Tirinth, still in black mourning, head cast down humbly. They did not understand the meaning of her departure; they assumed she would be gone, and then return, again hopeful and strong, again their loving queen. Just going to be gone for a little while, that was it. To mourn, and then be done with it.

And as she came out of Osgiliath, as she headed down through the deep pass into the mountains, towards Lorien, she did not look back.

(-)

Arwen opened her eyes.

Bitter shock coursed through her. How could she have left? How could she have left them, all of them? Her children! Her poor, dear children, whom she had loved and treasured, left, abandoned! And her people, who saw her as their great queen, who would hold the kingdom together after the death of their king...gone.

She sniffed reproachfully, feeling the liquid torment begin to well in her eyes once more. Not for Aragorn this time, though; this time for her children, and her people, and all those she had loved and left behind, to fend for themselves in that time of great need.

"Dear Arwen, cry you once again? Would that I could weep for you, know your pain; do not cry, cousin..."

As the day had rolled in he had pulled away from her, not knowing if their position of the night before would have upset her. He had covered her once again with the furs, and lain down next to her, awake, observant. Sweat had formed on her brow, and her chest heaved as her second dream had come to its close. The looks of heartache that had formed upon her fair face, the restless gestures she performed, the names she called out- "Eldarion-Gilraen-Celebrian..." And when the tears began to form once more, he could not bear it-he had to wake her.

She had forgotten he had been there. "Ah, nay Legolas...tis nothing."

"If you must weep, allow me to hold you until you cease." This she let him do, and he grasped her firmly around the waist, his other hand running up and down her back, as she silently sobbed. This was different from the loud, agonized cries of the night before; these cries were directed at something, they had a specific meaning; they were not abstract notions brought on by a nightmare.

He thought perhaps she might fare better if she spoke to him of it. "Why do you cry, cousin?" he ventured.

"I cry for Eldarion, Celebrian, and Gilraen, and my people, all of whom I left and abandoned.A mother was I to them...and in their need did I leave them, for my own selfish reasons. Why did I depart? Ah, Legolas..."

He did not answer, only let her sob herself into calm in his arms. _A beginning,_ he told himself. _A beginning. She weeps for the ones she left behind, and not Aragorn. She may yet come back to us all..._

She was pacified now; she pulled away from him and gazed gratefully into his pale, cerulean eyes. "I had a nightmare yesternight," she said slowly, wistfully. "Was it your touch that I felt, cousin? Did you come close to me during the night, comfort me then as well as now?"

He nodded. "It was mine."

A sudden surge of fondness welled in her heart. So it was him who had held her, spoken to her in their childish language, held her hand after she had calmed down. Legolas...Legolas. Dear cousin. What would she have done if he had not been there? Lain in her cave for all eternity until the whistling wind awoke her? Aye...that, or until the end of the world brought her to her Estel.

She slowly rose, smoothing out the wrinkles on her dress, tossing her curls over her shoulders. A hand she extended to Legolas; he grasped it and she pulled him up, his unkempt blonde hair hanging down his back, the creases on his light blue under-tunic straightening themselves out.

Their hands did not part until they had gone outside, into the morning air of Lorien, the sun unusually bright over the stiff trees. Arwen stood watching it, her hands folded, a look of neutrality worn on her face as she observed the forests, the world she had come into. It seemed as though she would bolt into the mists at any instant, like a frightened doe longing for its den. The second dream had reminded her of the world of men, her Gondor, the children she had abandoned in her sorrow.

Legolas watched her shift from one foot to the other, fold her arms over her chest, as if cold. He longed to find an end to her sorrow, but perhaps it was good that she dreamt now of her children and her old home; she remembered them, that was fair enough. And she yearned for them once again. Surely he did not want to watch her weep, as he had many times over the last few weeks, but if she began to weep for things that were still alive and living, things that could be returned to...then her healing had begun, finally.

This he hoped, and for nothing else. He watched her figure against the plain backdrop of the forest, and in his eyes there was no greater creature of grace and beauty than she.

(-)

Days passed into weeks, and these into months. Still he lingered there with her, hoping, praying that she was healing, that the wounds of her heart would be sewn with longings for her children and home, wishing also that he could lace the strings of his love for her into it. But of these things she said naught; it seemed she had forgotten them. Her long strolls in the forest became even more pronounced, as he grew sick with his own longing. To run amidst green fields, to bask in the afterglow of a warm sunset, to see Gimli's face along with those of his fellow elves. As the days grew colder, as he felt the chill of a faceless autumn pressing all around them, he knew that his tolerance of the place was growing less and less each day.

And yet he stayed, for he loved her.

On the forty-fourth day he awoke to a pale sun, shining dully, yet still a source of brightness. Long had he gone without it, and its light was eerie yet welcoming, warming his face and hands. Arwen still lay asleep; no nightmares, or any he had detected, had been brought forth by her troubled mind. It was unusual that she should not awake before he; she who often rose before dawn to lament the passing of her love.

The black masses, woven with the threads of shadowed twilights, framed her elegant face, her closed eyes, her silken lashes. Her lids fluttered, and her lips parted slightly as she shifted, moving onto her back, her arms tucked protectively in front of her. The simple violet gown was draped around her body; she had retained her fondness for long sleeves, as they reached almost to the floor when she stood; Legolas remembered these things, and always would; he could never forget anything about her.

He suddenly had an urge to kiss her, quickly, lightly; but no, it would not be proper; her grief was still present, and it would disturb her lest he make an incorrect decision. And surely he did not want to drive himself away from her; he would rather die than have Arwen think imperfectly of him. From where he stood at the mouth of the cave, hands stretched out, grasping the slightly wet rocks of the opening, he wavered. Surely, one kiss, perhaps on the forehead, would not discomfort her if she awoke.

He crossed the cave floor and knelt next to her, still observing. How beautiful she was, had always been, would always be. The dress reminded him of the days in Rivendell before the whole business of the ring; days when schemes were covered and the elves' ethereal happiness was real to them, tangible. When she and him would race up the hills with bows and arrows, practicing and challenging; or when she would dance with him, at one of their merry gatherings, light and smiling in his arms. One of those things, or all of them; no, he could not forget any.

He leaned in close and touched her sweet face. She did not stir; his fingers ran over her cheek delicately. Yes, just one kiss, as cousins do.

His lips touched her forehead as he closed his eyes. This was as close as he could come to her; he would not jeopardize their friendship because of a love that would not returned.

Her eyelids fluttered violently.

In her sleep she could feel someone come close to her, someone who deeply loved her, cared for her genuinely; she could feel him kneel close, touch her cheek affectionately, pause as if in hesitation. And then a kiss, light, on her forehead, soft, and gentle, and real.

She shook herself out of her deep reverie, settling instead for a lighter state of consciousness, knowing yet not understanding. It was him...him! Estel! Her five years of wandering, weeping, grieving, had come to its end. He had come for her, to take her away again, to love her once again, with love so powerful and undying that it had surpassed death.

Her excitement was so great she felt her hands reach for him, draw him closer to her. As he pulled away, seemingly in indecision, she again grew faint. Estel, Elessar, he was returned to her!

Her eyes were still closed as she felt his arms, his shoulders, and pulled him towards her, in great emotion. "My love," she said simply, embracing him, still dreaming, still incoherent, still unaware of what was actually occurring. "Come to me at last." Her lips found his; eagerly she kissed him, fervently passionate, as he put his arms around her, embraced her; the sensation she had not known for so long sent an electric shock through her body. It was real! Real, not one of her her half-imagined dreams, born of the mists, cold and dead and grey when she awoke! He was here, he was holding her, his lips were pressed against her own, and this was the manner it was always meant to be.

His kisses were firm, and long, and he was gentle with her, as he had always been, when he was living. His face against hers was warm and smooth, and his hand had wandered once again to her cheek, caressing her face as they lay close against each other, two lovers again reunited.

But...pray, what was this? She brought her hand up to his face; his cheek was smooth, not bearded or freshly shorn as it was wont to be. His hair; her fingers grasped thin braids, woven into the side of his head and on the back; indeed this was not Estel's usual manner. It occurred to her that his body, though strong and powerful, still seemed more lithe and nimbler than he had been; what changes! But what had brought his about...

She opened her eyes.

Shock mellowed every part of her body, stiffening her, killing her.

For it was not Estel.

It was Legolas.

"Ah!" she screamed, pushing him away from her forcefully, violently. "Estel," she moaned softly, incredulously, sitting up, her face in her hands, her black hair falling over her face. Hastily she looked up to see her cousin sitting next to her, in almost equal shock, looking horrified as she glared at him. "How dare you!" she cried, wishing to strike him, hurt him. "How dare you kiss me as my love is only permitted to do!" Her eyes were cold with shock, her heart once again chained by the fetters which had been unlocked for too little a time. Tears began to form near the corner of her eyes; her wild stare became even more pronounced as the liquid drops trickled down her face.

Legolas, for his part, did not know what he had committed. He had been kissing her forehead...she had pulled him in, thinking in her dreams that it was Aragorn, returned to her, waking her; he had pulled back, alarmed, and yet he wished to do it, wished with all his heart. When she had drawn him closer yet again he had not resisted, although he should have. Were it any other woman he would have surely done, but it was not...it was his Arwen...

"Cousin...cousin, forgive me...it was only your forehead I meant to kiss, and nothing more than that..." he managed to declare, faltering for words. What had he done!

Arwen's momentary sorrow had turned to rage. How dare he kiss her, bring her hopes to a bursting point, falsely convey the message that her love was returned! _How dare he!_

She instantly rose, no longer sadly tranquil nor dully bemused. Her eyes burned with dark light; and as they bore into him, he felt his soul on fire.

"I cannot forgive this travesty!" she screamed, tears dampening her curls. "You have gone too far, my lord. Such an improper gesture as this...at a time when still I mourn my loving husband...it is unforgivable."

"Arwen!" Legolas answered, in bold tones, "Pray, cousin, do not shun me! I am truly regretful...I truly did not mean to kiss you in such a way. Yet you drew me to you, and I could not prevent myself-"

"Could not? How could you not? You are my greatest friend, and my truest, but how could you disremember that we are no more than that?"

He sighed. Of course she was more to him than that. Yet how could he tell her, how could he-

"Tye-meláne," he whispered simply, his hands resting at his sides, his pained face looking into her own. "As I have for always."

Her face was pale and surprised. Love? Legolas loved her as more than a friend all these years? How could it have been that he had not told her in all their time together, when he had known she loved naught but Estel?

"No," she answered, forcing herself to shake her head. "That cannot be."

"And yet it is!" he answered, going to her, taking her hand in his own once again as he gazed into her face. "Arwen, I have loved you from the very beginning of our lives together, from when we were children. And when you married Aragorn, I knew that you loved him more than anything else, and I did not stop you for I wished you all the happiness I could never provide. And when you fled from the world after his death, I tried to forget...I tried to expel your memory from my mind. And I could not. I looked for you for so long, Arwen...and I stay with you now because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you here, alone in your grief.

"Arwen, please...I meant no harm, only love, and if you wish me to depart I shall...but think no dire thoughts of me, dear cousin, for you are what I care about most in this world."

"That is enough!" she cried fiercely, ripping her hand out of his incredulously. "You have broken my trust, my lord. I will stand for this talk no longer. You will leave; I am greatly upset."

He nodded, slowly, acceptingly. She turned away from him, shaking, white with rage and disbelief. As he shouldered his few belongings, dawned his traveling cloak, and strapped his bow and arrows to his back she watched him, uttering neither words of reluctance nor contempt.

He quietly swept out the opening of the cave, his feet crunching among the leaves. She came into the dull sunlight and leaned against the mouth, as he had done that very morning. Too ashamed to look back at her he continued on, his soul black and dismal, and as sorrowful as if she herself had been killed, and he was mourning her. Yet she stood there, alive, behind him; but he did not look back.

And as his vanishing figure quietly disappeared into the misty trees, she knelt down, her hands in her lap, thoughtful as a single tear traced its way around her cheek and landed near her heart. As though it stung she placed her hand over it; it was the least she could do to keep it from bursting.

"You love me."

To be continued...

Note: Hey ya'll! This was a long time coming.it might have been posted a little earlier, but I had to erase some stuff because I had been reading Orwell's 1984 for class, and when I began to write, I was writing in Orwellian style! Can't have that eh? Well, from the way this is turning out, I'm estimating this will either have a long fourth chapter or a medium length fourth chapter and a shorter fifth. Fourth is going to be a hard one to write, I think! Well, stay tuned, and keep on coming back for more, cause I have plenty! .


	4. To Watch

Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings elements belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien. All thanks for his magnificent work. 

To Pass the Night  
Chapter 4: To Watch  
by ArchFaith

She did not realize how long it was that she lay there, paralyzed with regret.

The very place she had knelt down in, where she had cried, secretly, softly, as if she were hiding from an unknown audience, sneering in their mirth-from thence she did not move. Only lain down when she had wept so much that her heart felt cleaved in two, the fragile strings which held it together ripped into shreds, tossed out into the vast empty plain of her soul. She herself had torn them, she thought bitterly, the tears now frozen on her face, the chilling autumn wind lightly ruffling her hair as if in a faint mockery.

She did not sleep-time melded together as she lay curled near the mouth of the cave, her arms crossed over her chest in a vain attempt at protection. Her eyes were half-open, only blinking every now and then as she stared into the grey woods, the prison of grief she was now forever entrenched in. A few hours could have passed...a few days. A few weeks. But this she did not care about; time held no importance any longer.

His relieved arms, holding her tight against him as he buried his face in her hair.

_How dare he kiss me when he knows I mourn my love still! His gall, his insolence to declare that he has loved me more than a friend!_

His blue eyes, darting across her moonlight-strewn face, as they lay there, speaking, in the darkness of the cavern.

_Why did he not pull away when I drew him towards me in my sleep? It was a mistake on my part, but for his..._

The raw passion in his voice as he told he loved her.

She turned onto her side, her eyes red and aching.

"Legolas."

Great expanses of time and space seemed to glide gently through her being as she recalled all the times she had ever written his name, heard it mentioned by the elders, whispered it herself.

And why did she think so? Did she not just disregard his love, send him away, wish him gone from her sight forever?

Truth...and yet, falsehood.

The lids of her eyes projected another world...another age, one in which a young elven-prince grasped the small lady's hand with great anxiety, and, after a pause, brought it close to his heart. The youngest they were among their people; the last two children born to the elven kind. He had never known one younger than he until that very day, when first they met; and their bond was formed, slowly but solidly, as they grew to understand the world together.

And now the Fellowship was leaving on their fated quest, the bringing of the Ring to Mt. Doom, the journey which only two of them would be able to complete. Lightly had he run up to her, as she faced the travelers, solemn and uncomfortable. She touched his face; "Farewell, sweet cousin," she heard herself say as he parted from her, joined the ill-fated band, looking into her eyes even as he crossed the threshold of Rivendell.

Years passed in the span of a moment; her head felt feverish, her senses dulled as she lay with the child Celebrian in the royal bedchamber, still weakened from the strenuous birth. As much as she had desired her king to be present it was not meant to pass; he had been dispatched on some long-winded journey through the mountains, meaning to obtain a trade treaty from a remote village located somewhere near the old mountains. This journey, he had estimated, would be completed in a month; he was delayed there for two. She did not loathe this, for it was his duty and obligation to fulfill; but then who was it that sat by her bedside, Eldarion cradled in his arms, caressing her hand as her fever broke and lessened?

She loved him. Through all the years-from their dreamlike childhood to her loving marriage with Aragorn, to his fated death and her immediate departure-she had loved him. But she had always known it as fondness, love between cousins, friends, true and great; and never this emotion that now swelled within her, swirling deep beneath her heart, covered by seclusion, grief, and multitudes of other feelings which caused an almost nauseous reaction within her. She had never known the extent of her feelings for him until the very moment he had declared it; the moment she had known that he loved her more than anything. Who else but he would have searched for her for weeks without a sign of her existence? Who else would have stayed in this desolate space, silently despairing, only to her bring some comfort? Who had held her while she cried, accompanied her when she wished it, gone without the sun and blue sky for so long?

Dear, sweet one, born of the forests, always hers.

But how could she forget about Aragorn? Her truest love for two hundred years, her soul's companion, for whom she had given up her immortality? What of him and all that they had built together, their life, their home, their memories? Her dreams of him, her longing for him, her very reason for mourning alone for so long. Such love could never be forgotten, not even if she lived for a hundred ages hence.

And yet...

She rose, her dress cascading in velvety sheets down her legs. Pulling the black waves away from her face, she looked out into the forest, the same view she had glimpsed for five years-years upon years upon years, it now seemed. "And yet..." she said aloud, to herself, to the trees, to the sky.

"Pray, and yet what?"

This statement, this thought which she had heard spoken aloud-it was not hers. It came neither from her lips nor from her mind; it was foreign, alien to her secluded world, yet somehow it rung familiar.

She tensed swiftly; her eyebrows arching, her hands falling down straight at her sides.

Aragorn was standing there, watching, as he had been for several seconds. Clad in the simple dark fabrics of the Dunedain was he; tunic, leggings, chain mail, and worn overcoat. His brown hair and beard was unkempt, and cloak and sword were close at hand.

Aragorn, Estel, as he had been in the days of the ring; young, bold, adventurous.

Arwen turned to him slowly, with quiet surprise flooding her heart. He had come, after all. He had momentarily departed the world of the dead to meet with her, perhaps even take her with him. All her mourning had not been in vain; now he was here, with her, standing right in front of her as if he were still living.

She who had loved him for two hundred years; who had forsaken her race and her family to become his wife; who had spent the last twenty seasons lamenting his passing-greeted him. "Hail, Elessar," was her simple address. One would have expected her to throw her arms around him and weep for joy, which is what she herself had imagined. But nay; this simple greeting, this hushed calmness-it was strange, yet natural for her.

He held his hand out to her; she grasped it tightly. "Have...have you come, Estel, to take me from this world?" she asked, looking into his eyes, the same as she done that night in Rivendell over a century prior.

"Is that what you would have me do?" he answered gently, his voice so soothing, so quiet it was as if he were speaking inside of her head.

Her eyes retreated downwards as she shook her head. "I thought that death would suit me well," she began. "Death was the only escape I could have taken from this world to ease my sorrow. But nay...nay, Estel, I cannot say yes as I have been preparing to do for so long."

He nodded perceptively. "Do you love him, my Arwen?"

The tears were starting to blur her vision once more. "Aye," she answered.

"Then go to him now. He loves you as you love him."

She lowered her eyes. "How can I do this, Estel? Our memories, our lives, our love together...how can I forget these things?"

He reached out to touch her face, smooth her cheek. "Why must you forget them? Do not; keep them in your heart and treasure them always. But do not forsake he that loves you as equally as I do."

She brought her hand up to his, and kept it there. "Are you not offended, my lord?" she found herself asking, her voice muffled by quiet weeping. She almost stopped herself; one part of her was in astonishment over her refusal to depart with Estel; the other part of her accepted it, stood behind her decision,whether be it right or wrong.

"Nay...nay my Arwen. There is no life without love. Believe, and hasten hence."

She embraced him. Never had she imagined their reunion to be so terse; never had she imagined that the same calm grace which she had learned to apply to all things would apply to him as well.

"Goodbye Estel," she bid him. He was gone as she whispered his name. Her arms remained long in that curled position before she dropped them again. Was it real, then, this vision of him? Or an imagined folly, born out of her own longing for another? She did not question it as she ran into the cavern and donned her traveling cloak, pinning it tight around her neck. She pulled the hood over her head and tucked the loose pieces of hair back into place.

She stepped back outside, into the dull light, and took a parting look at her dwelling; the rough rock, the pile of furs, the chest in the corner. Then she turned and did not look back.

The age of sorrow had ended.

"I believe," she whispered as she hurried into the wood, praying that she would be able to reach him in time.

To be continued...

Note: Whew! That was soooo hard to write! I don't know about you guys, but I personally find it very hard to write about Aragorn, and I hope it didn't show! In fact, I had so much trouble with this chapter that I needed my friend Hope7 and a great beta-reader, Licia, to help me out with this. Their suggestions really helped me get through this, and now I think I've pulled off the best I can do. I know you readers want more, but there's only one chapter left! Promise! I would have squeezed it into this chapter, but I wanted there to be just one more...to fit the mood of the story. Keep on coming back for more...the ending's fabulous, I guarantee!

To Hope7 and Licia: Thanks so much for all your input! I'm greatly appreciative!

A special note to all my reviewers, especially Tiffiany-45 and ursa major: Thanks so much for all your wonderful compliments and comments, you guys! It's for the readers like you that I keep on writing strong


	5. To Keep

Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings elements belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien. All thanks for his magnificent work. Note: Here I go... 

To Pass the Night  
Chapter 5: To Keep  
by ArchFaith

And it had all come to pass to woe.

Oh misbegotten soul, how forsaken are you now?

He was staring straight ahead of him, almost incredulously, at the patch of bright sunlight that glistened a few yards away, a welcome sight to his grey-wearied mind. Though it brought him minor relief, it did not bring him comfort-no, comfort could never truly be had now.

Listlessly he trudged toward it, knowing that his journey out of the woods was soon to be ended. Sunlight again, and green grass, and other living beings-the world of the Fourth Age. The world without her.

With every step he bemoaned that ill-fated kiss-the feel of his lips on hers, the texture of her soft hair between his fingertips. How his heart had sung with her touch-how he had pulled away. And how he did not resist when she again pulled him to her.

Why could he not have stopped? It should not have been difficult-he had known that she had mistaken him for Aragorn. Why should he want to become a substitute for her husband when he was dead, to comfort her with kisses when he knew she longed for another?

And yet he had kissed her, lovingly and passionately. It was without lust, without the fleeting desire for any sort of physical consummation.

He kissed her because he needed her.

Need-an eternal wish. No, it was not as simple as simply wanting a person, or even a thing-it was much deeper than that.

He almost wished that he did only want her-for if that were so he could have continued on without her, could have felt his desire for her abate as time passed.

But as it was he needed her. He could not continue on without her; he wished to see her joyful and smiling once more, wished everything for her, the world for her.

And now he would have to return to the outside world without her-for now, now that he had disgraced himself in her eyes, she would have no more of him.

He did not cry, though he felt as such. He promised himself that sometime in the future, when the strength of her denial struck him with full force, he would. But not now.

He hiked along the trail of stones leading north, as she had told him earlier. A much simpler and direct route it was-it would lead him straight out of Lórien, and near to the River Anduin. From there he could proceed south towards Ithilien, back to Gimli and the elven colony.

But no-some wild part of him rebelled against this precise arrangement, scolded him from within. He could stay here, in Lórien...forever. To live amongst the trees, as she did...to forever live within her range, to glimpse her dark figure moving through the shaded thickets...he could do this. He could always be near her.

Quickly he shook the insane idea out of his head. The woods were making his mind weak...he needed to escape, to flee this forsaken land as soon as he could.

And Arwen...would she forever dwell here, mourning her lost love, until the end of the world bore her to her death, finally?

Finally. It was as if it were a blessing she should die.

He tried not to think of her, of her life, of his life without her, as he now approached the patches of sweet sunlight, filtered through the tops of the thick trunks. Soon he would emerge onto the plain-soon he would be able to forget that all things ever occurred. He would tell Gimli that he had departed Arwen in good grace; if her children inquired, he would say the same.

And the reality would always be there in his heart, slowly boring through his soul.

"Arwen." He whispered her name, felt it carried away by the wind. He loved her name-the harmony of its syllables, the gentle balance he felt whenever he called her.

Perhaps the wind would carry it back to her, he mused. Not that she should want to hear it.

"Legolas..."

And here was a trick of the wind. He heard a distant voice sound among its whistling-it seemed to call to him, the sound of it wispy and restless.

He continued along without hearing any other sound, save his own footsteps and the wind's usual low shrieking. The patches of light grew more numerous; he was coming nearer to the exit.

"Legolas..."

Ah, there it was again. He ignored it and trudged onward, having no wish to hear his name called by phantom spirits of the wood. He could see it now-the plain on which the River Anduin ran. Through the trunks he saw it, in the distance-not as bright as he thought it would be, but still a stark difference from this grey terrain.

He almost jogged toward it, his feet nimbly clearing the fallen branches and beds of leaves. He was half-relieved; it would be good to be outside again-outside, where she was not. Where mayhap she could be half-forgotten, the memory of her pushed away.

To trade the green earth and the sunlight for her-a hard choice. And still he would have taken the latter.

He passed the rows of trees that seemed to bend in on him, seemingly to prevent him from reaching his goal. Through and through and through-and there, it was done. He was standing on the edge of Lorien, looking out across the Plains of Anduin. Across the wide expanse of pale green grass he could see the running river, its waters clear and cool as it traversed the lands, distant and winding as it twisted towards the low hills. He was at least released from the realm of sorrow. But in his heart there was no real liberation-she was still within. Without her there was no true freedom. His heart felt caged; and it was, a cage belonging to her, a cage she kept in the corner of her dwelling, neither looking at it nor thinking about it, forevermore.

"Legolas..."

"Do you mock me, wind?" he whispered in a low voice, his hands at his sides, his hair tousled by the air which flowed out of the woods. "If you could die upon an arrow you would have done so by my hand, long ago."

"Legolas...proceed not..."

This voice...

He turned around. It was her...it was Arwen.

She was running through the trees, towards him, her cloak billowing out behind her, her hair lifted by the currents of air. She gasped for breath as she neared him-it had taken all her strength to have run the distance of the Plains in half a day-one half of the normal amount of time it usually took. But her heart had carried her, urged her on when she ached to rest. And now she was here, here in a place she had not seen for years-and it brought her quiet joy.

He was astonished as she came up to him, gasping, her face flushed yet glad. "Arwen?" he asked, as if he needed to clarify the vision he was seeing before him. "Do I see you before me? Is it really your face that I now gaze upon?"

She nodded-and smiled. "Yes, cousin...it is I. I have come."

A smile-so foreign on her face it seemed to completely change her. Her face no longer appeared long and drawn, but cheerful now-her eyes had regained their old glint, her cheeks again rosy. It seemed to amaze him.

"Why...why have you come?" He was almost speechless as he beheld her.

Her face became a mixture of hope and regret. She looked into his eyes, his eyes the color of the twilight sky, and there found her support. "Pardon me, cousin, for what transpired yestermorning-I was in great distress, great alarm, and I did not comprehend the true strength of your words. It was only after you had departed, after I had lain down and reflected, that I came...I came to understand..."

She trailed off as he came nearer and grasped her hand gently, pausing before he drew it near his heart. A simple gesture of affection, their endearment, formed when they were but children-it meant more than any words could ever express. "It was then that I understood...over the passage of time, throughout these long ages, I grew to love you deeply, deeper than the bond of friends. This love was cast aside upon my marriage, as it should have been-and now that he is gone, departed from this world-there is no reason I cannot love you as I do."

She was crying once more-tears of happiness now, or at least she hoped them to be.

"Forgive me, cousin...I was wrong to despair. In my grief my mind was clouded, and I could not remember what it was like to be loved. And when you declared that you loved me...I did not believe that I held the same feelings. But now I see...I was wrong to believe that I could not love again."

He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he looked down at her, grasping her hand near his beating heart. Was it true? This speech she had uttered-was it real? Was it not some trick of the woods, mocking him, goading him on in stupidity?

He reached up and touched her face, felt her tears as she gazed on, her face keen and ardent. Gently he stroked the tears away-they no longer carried a place in her life. He would see to it.

"Pray, do not ask for my forgiveness, cousin," he answered. "There is naught for me to pardon...with me you have no faults."

He drew her closer, so close their foreheads touched. His arms encircled her, as hers wrapped around his back. She was pulled up against him, now, in an embrace. It seemed to him that he had never held anything so beautiful, so powerful, as she.

Her face was buried against his shoulder as they embraced; eternity seemed to pass between them as they shared their feelings, emotions, and hopes all in the space of a few moments. He did not want to release her from his arms; not even the eternal years they would share together would make up for the time she was missed from his embrace.

She pulled away slightly, to look him in the eyes. Her eyes glistened red, but not with sadness. Nay...that emotion did not belong among them. Cast out it was, now, and forever; too long had the lady grieved. She smiled slightly, the sweet innocent child-like face peering into his, her hands grasping his shoulders.

She whispered: "You who have loved me from our first beginnings; pray, fly me from this forsaken land in which I have dwelt. With you I will journey, and remain at your side always; until time takes me, and I have faded hence."

"My lady...I am not worthy to perform such a feat," answered he. "But if it is your wish, then it shall be done so. I am yours; I belong to you."

She could not restrain herself as she drew him near to her. "Tyé- melane, Legolas," she whispered as she brought his face towards hers, bidding him.

"As do I, my Arwen," he answered before their lips met, in true and deep affection.

(-)

"And so it was that Legolas son of Thranduil brought Arwen Evenstar out of her seclusion in Lothlórien. They journeyed to the northeast, to Minas Tirinth in Gondor, where they were joyfully received by the king Eldarion, as well as the princesses Celebrían and Gilraen. All three were full of happiness at the sight of mother, no longer grieved nor sorrowed. There she stayed, Legolas at her side, for a few months, upon which they departed once more. They traveled now to Ithilien, to the colony of dwarves and elves that now dwelt among the forests. Here they were greeted by Gimli, and there they remained for many years, years filled with love and bliss. And when the time came Legolas and Gimli constructed a boat, a sturdy vessel, and all three journeyed forth to the Grey Havens, where they were received by their families and friends who had departed hence. And here was their eternal journey completed-here their love continued, and their happiness."

And so love did not die once a flame had been extinguished-it only lay dormant until a new flame sprung into being, a new light bringing with it new hope.

For without hope, life cannot exist. And a life itself cannot continue without love.

As the tale ends, remember, and believe.

THE END

Note: Whew! I hope ya'll liked that! Ohhhh Legolas x Arwen I just love it! I can't deny the rightness of Aragorn x Arwen, but these two are so right for each other...I couldn't help it! Hope you liked it, and of course reviews are welcome! If anyone wants to e-mail me as well, do it! I'd love to hear from you! AND ONE MORE THING GUYS! When you review, please tell me if you'd like me to write one more 'parody' chapter.basically, a funny and twisted version of one chapter of the story. It was an idea I had, and I think it's be great! And now.

Hope7: Thanks for always listening to me in real life, and also for helping with the structure of this story...and for listening to the entire chapters 3 and 4 on the phone

Licia: Again, thanks a lot for taking time out to read my story, and giving me some helpful advice. This story is going on Parma Eruseen soon, I'll make sure of it!

Tifiany-45: Thanks for all your reviewing! Your detailed reviews really perked up my spirits and encouraged me to write the best I could! And I as well love Moulin Rouge, though that's not where I got Aragorn's "There is no life without love" line from Truth, freedom, beauty, and love forever!

Dawn1: Thanks for putting my story on your site! If I ever write another Legolas romance fic, I'll be sure to think of you!

Ursa major: I was quite happy that an A/A shipper finds my story to be interesting and in character. It's hard to get anyone other than L/A shippers to read it! Thank you!

Skyshadow: hahaha, you are quite picky. But it doesn't matter; I'm glad I was able to touch someone's heart! Adjectives are delicious, I might add...

Gionareth: Hope I didn't really give you a heart attack...!

Winter sky, blush, Kaion Vin, mata, Eponine Enjolras, and ele15greenleaf: Thanks for your inspirations and compliments, they all really helped a lot.

To all future reviews: Well, what are you waiting for! Review!

ArchFaith signing out


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